Jets head coach Rex Ryan’s decision to skip a postseason chat with the local media seems to have backfired in spectacular fashion ; had Ryan actually faced the music earlier this week, chances are he’d worn long-sleeves, thus avoiding questions about what appears to a tattoo paying homage to the most important person in his life (and his wife, Michelle, too!). Said press conference was delayed a week, of whcih the New York Daily News’ Bob Raissman says of Ryan and team owner Woody Johnson, “while the pair violated NFL policy, they stand on solid ground when it comes to show business rules of engagement.”
They have created an aura of mystery. There is anticipation in the air. As the clock winds down and Tuesday, their press conference day of reckoning, approaches, this thing will become so big it best be held on Broadway (Woody could sell tickets) rather than at “the team facility in Florham Park,” a much too antiseptic venue for a theatrical production.
Next week’s spectacle will do absolutely nothing to repair Ryan’s fractured image. There are questions for Johnson to answer, too, but he is a bit player in this show. He is actually like the curtain. He is here to stay. Johnson ain’t riding his little scooter out of town.
Ryan is the story. His persona has fallen off a cliff. Incredibly, he has gone from wisecracking windbag to fumfering nebbish, one with no answers. You don’t want to walk into the biggest press conference of your life playing the role of Flounder in “Animal House,” but this is where Ryan is. Remember, the Jets are more soap opera than football team, opening up the possibility of this becoming a crossover affair attracting the “Entertainment Tonight” crowd.